


Stay or Sail Away

by MordorIsCalling



Series: The Singer and the Sailor AU [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Famous Jaskier | Dandelion, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Pining, Royal Navy officer Geralt, Singer Jaskier | Dandelion, no beta we are feral like Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26967883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MordorIsCalling/pseuds/MordorIsCalling
Summary: It’s a bit pathetic and desperate, Jaskier can freely admit, but he has no other choice.“I need urgent help from someone who’d be willing to act as my fiancé during a family party on February the 24th. The only thing I expect is the ability to sing praises of our love and to compliment my aunts. It’ll take around 4 hours and then we end our relationship. Age from 35 to 40. It’d be great if you knew something about the sea because I'd like to introduce you as a sailor who’s never home and afterwards, you die. Can anybody help?”In which Jaskier looks for a fake fiancé... and finds Geralt. A man who Jaskier wants tostay.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Singer and the Sailor AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076129
Comments: 131
Kudos: 878
Collections: Wasn't Quite Expecting This (But I Loved It)





	1. Part I - Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do WIPs ever end? Apparently not. Even though I should work on other fics, this idea just wouldn't leave me alone. It's based on an actual Facebook post which I translated into English - it said literally what Jaskier posts. 
> 
> A quick disclaimer: I don't know shit about working at sea and the internet is responsible for my research on the Royal Navy. Correct me if I made some mistake :D 
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s not that Jaskier has any problem finding someone, thank you very much. It’s just that he’s _busy_. Busy with concerts and composing, meeting fans at various events, travelling, internet dramas involving Valdo (it’s always fucking Valdo). There’s no time for a relationship, only for occasional one night stands that sometimes leave him heartbroken because he actually manages to fall in love with someone in the span of a few hours. It’s fine, though. Heartbreak inspires him like little else.

Jaskier's never complained about lack of bed partners, when he seeks them out. He’s charming, after all. Still, the moment he smells commitment in the air, he flees. It’s just not his way. Or perhaps he’s never found anyone fascinating enough to commit to; it takes _a lot_ to keep his attention. He wasn’t even _looking_ for someone like that. Not until recently.

His troubles began a week ago, during a phone call with his mum. She reminded him of his father’s 65th birthday party and asked if he would bring anyone with him. This was followed by a series of questions about his love life because, as his mum put it, “you’re 35, Julian darling, and you’re always working so hard! I worry you’ll end up alone”. In order to placate her, Jaskier might’ve lied a little _tiny_ bit about some things. As a result, because of all the twists and turns of the conversation, he made his mother believe he had a fiancé.

A fucking _fiancé._

Wanda Pankratz was ecstatic, wishing to know everything about her son’s relationship, but he dodged all the further questions by saying that she would meet his love soon enough. She left it at that but, _of course_ , told half the family about it, if the texts and calls from his sisters and aunts were anything to go by.

Hence, The Post.

It’s a bit pathetic and desperate, Jaskier can freely admit, but he has no other choice. His personal guard Zoltan almost pissed himself laughing when Jaskier asked him to pretend to be his fiancé, and not one of his friends knew anyone who would want to do this. Not even his agent Triss could help him out.

It all drove Jaskier to log on his anonymous Facebook account (he _is_ a pretty big name in the UK; better be safe than sorry) and post in one of the big London groups.

_“I need urgent help from someone who’d be willing to act as my fiancé during a family party on February the 24th. The only thing I expect is the ability to sing praises of our love and to compliment my aunts. It’ll take around 4 hours and then we end our relationship. Age from 35 to 40. It’d be great if you knew something about the sea because I'd like to introduce you as a sailor who’s never home and afterwards, you die. Can anybody help?”_

Since yesterday, the post has got more than a thousand reactions (mostly the laughing one and likes) and hundreds of comments. Many people tagged their friends as a joke, which is _not_ helpful, but Jaskier still scrolls down and down, trying not to let his hope die. Nobody seems to think his request is for real and he’s received no serious offers so far. Then, one of the newest comment threads catches his attention.

 **Lambert Rivia** : **Geralt Rivia** Destiny!

**Geralt Rivia** Fuck off

**Yennefer Vengeberg** Omg 😂 **Cirilla Vengeberg-Rivia Eskel Rivia** you must see this!

**Cirilla Vengeberg-Rivia** Yesssss!! This is perfect! ❤️

**Eskel Riva** Do it **Geralt**

 **Geralt Rivia** No.

Intrigued, Jaskier decides to check out these people’s profiles. Lambert Rivia is a handsome red-haired man, wearing some kind of black military uniform in his profile picture. Looking at his bio, Jaskier already knows why Lambert didn’t volunteer himself – he’s in a relationship. Eskel Rivia is blond, even more handsome than Lambert despite facial scars, and also has a photo in a black uniform, together with a white cap on his head. There’s no information on Eskel’s relationship status and Jaskier is intrigued indeed. Yennefer Vengeberg is a terrifyingly beautiful woman who, judging by how professional her profile picture appears, must work in some serious profession. Cirilla Vengerberg-Rivia is a lovely teenage girl with white-blond hair. Jaskier reckons she’s the daughter of Yennefer and one of the Rivia guys.

He left the poor Geralt’s profile as the last to look at, but now that Jaskier has seen the rest, he checks this one too.

His jaw fucking _drops_.

Geralt Rivia is a _ridiculously_ handsome man. His face seems practically unreal because, surely, people as beautiful as Geralt don’t _actually_ exist? The man’s long white hair (which makes no sense considering his apparent age), as well as his brown-almost-golden eyes, only add to his otherwordly, stunning appearance. Double stunning in that black military uniform he’s wearing in his profile picture, just like Lambert and Eskel. The suit looks familiar and Jaskier has a nagging feeling he _really_ should know what kind of army it is. Google helps him out and he quickly puts two to two – Geralt, Eskel and Lambert serve for the Royal Navy.

He bursts out laughing.

This is _too good_.

He wonders what he should do about this. Now that he knows about Geralt’s existence, he can’t really miss the chance of meeting him, however slim. His gut feeling tells him not to let the opportunity slip and well, who is Jaskier not to listen?

When he’s in the middle of debating what to write to the man, his phone pings. There’s a new messenger notification... a text from Geralt himself. With a racing heart, Jaskier opens it.

 _FEB THE 18TH AT 06:14 PM  
Hey. Everyone’s telling me to message you  
_ _and won’t leave me alone. Is your request for real?  
Please say no_

Jaskier chuckles and replies:

 _Hi! I’m sorry they’re bothering you and  
I’m also sorry to say that my request is  
very much for real. I’d be forever grateful  
if you helped me _😁

To this, Geralt responds with:

_They really won’t stop until I agree  
They think it’s so fucking funny_

Jaskier purses his lips, already suspecting this isn’t likely to work out. He'll have to face his loving mum and admit that he lied to her about fucking having a fiancé. She’s going to be so disappointed. At the very prospect, bad mood overtakes him, but he still types what he hopes to be a cheerful answer.

 _Damn, so sorry mate  
I won’t push you but, again,  
I’d totally owe you one if you agree _☺️

_What would I get?_

Jaskier tries to reason with his hope to calm _the fuck_ down and replies:

 _Money, or a favour of some sort,  
I have many connections  
Could be free tickets to my concerts  
Even my company for the night _😏 _  
Just whatever you want  
I really need help _

_Fuck_

For a minute or two, the three dots next to Geralt’s photo disappear, and Jaskier’s hope plummets in a dramatic fashion. Then, more messages from Geralt show up in the chat.

_Free tickets seem fine  
My daughter loves going to concerts  
She’d like free tickets but I never heard of you_

Jaskier starts begging any god out there that Cirilla is Geralt’s daughter. Teenagers make up a large part of his audience (which is great, actually; teenage kids are amazing these days). If she’s a fan, the free tickets are a major bargaining chip.

_Well, Julian AP isn’t my stage name  
I don’t use it on fb_

_What is it?  
Your stage name_

_I’d rather not say here  
And you must promise me  
you won’t tell anyone about it too  
Well, anyone but your daughter_

_Ok_

_  
Can you call me?  
It’s better to talk about this  
on the phone anyway_

_Fine._

Jaskier sends Geralt his number and waits for the call. In other circumstances, he’d congratulate himself on getting a man like _that_ to call him so easily, but he’s too anxious. His hands itch for his guitar but he doesn’t get up from his bed. He begins smoothing his hair out with his palms, praying in his mind that Geralt hasn’t changed his mind.

After the agonizing wait of eleven minutes, there’s an incoming call. Jaskier takes a deep breath and picks up.

“Hello,” says a gravelly baritone voice so pleasant that it sends shivers down Jaskier’s spine.

“Uhm, h-hi, Geralt,” he replies a bit breathlessly, then clears his throat. “So, my name’s Julian Alfred Pankratz but I’m known to many as Jaskier.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Jaskier?” Geralt repeats, “the one who sings _Her Sweet Kiss_?”

Jaskier beams, his chest swelling with pride. “The very same.”

“Fuck,” Geralt growls, “Ciri wants to blast this song whenever we drive somewhere.”

Jaskier laughs. “She would love free tickets to my concerts, wouldn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

Geralt says no more. Jaskier has to swallow down to stop his throat from constricting. “So?” he asks, “Can you do this for me?”

The silence on the other side is deafening and Jaskier doesn’t even breathe until Geralt finally speaks up. “Fine,” he grunts, his tone indicating it’s anything but fine.

Air leaves Jaskier’s lungs in a whoosh, replaced by a flood of such sheer _relief_ that he may as well cry. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he babbles, heady with joy, “Gosh, you’re my saviour!”

“Just don’t tell anyone about this,” Geralt grumbles.

“Not a soul, Geralt, not a soul.”

“Send me the details about when and where and let’s get this over w–”

“No, wait!” Jaskier cuts in, “My family’s very perceptive, they’ll know it’s a ruse. We should plan everything carefully.”

“You’re making me regret this,” Gerlt growls.

“I’m sorry!” Jaskier hastens to say. “Just... at least tell me a little bit about yourself?”

Geralt lets out an irritated sigh. “I’m forty, serve for the Royal Navy with my brothers. Eskel’s the nice one and Lambert’s the prick. My ex-wife Yennefer works for the government.” Jaskier actually shudders at this one because he already can picture it. Yennefer seems exactly powerful like that. “We have a daughter,” Geralt goes on, his tone softening, “Ciri. She’s fourteen. We live in London but I’m away often.”

“Oh, lovely,” Jaskier says with a wide smile because, really, this man’s love for his daughter is so clear and _endearing_ , “this is something we can start with.”

“Just make everything up about our _relationship_ and send it to me. I’ll play along.”

“Thank you,” he breathes out, still amazed at his luck. Jaskier is almost high on the success of his _ingenious_ scheme and his obligations are therefore non-existent, so nothing stops him from teasing Geralt. “Though, to be completely honest," he says cheekily, "you don’t strike me as the type to _sing praises of our love_ and compliment my aunts.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replies. It doesn’t sound like a negation. “Yen says I’m not that bad if I try.”

The fondness with which he said Yennefer’s name is a cold bucket of water poured on Jaskier's enthusiasm. “O-oh, ok,” he stutters out, thrown off-track, “So, uhm, would you be willing to try for me?”

For a moment, Geralt says nothing, then answers, “If you give Ciri an autograph.”

Jaskier laughs out loud. “Not a problem at all! Whatever she wants.” He pauses. “Whatever _you_ want,” he adds more seriously. 

Geralt only hmms, in a way that Jaskier’s prone-to-romanticism mind would almost call _warm_. Silence falls between them but it doesn’t feel awkward somehow. “Have to go,” Geralt says finally.

“Okay,” Jaskier replies quietly, “Thank you again. I’ll text you, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

After Geralt hangs up, Jaskier huffs out a shaky breath. Deep down, he already _knows_.

This is going to mess him up.

***

 _We met two years ago, you walked into one of my gigs at a bar in London, or wherever you were in the UK at the time. I asked you for a review of my songs and you said something funny (or whatever you think you would’ve said_ 😜 _). You were sailing off in a few weeks but we kept talking and when you returned six months later we were in love. We never said anything to my family because we were afraid that our relationship wouldn’t survive the long distance. But it did. I proposed on the New Year’s, we spent it on your ship, I guess_ 😁

To this romantic and entirely plausible story that Jaskier spent the whole night thinking and daydreaming about, Geralt only replied:

_Ok_

It kind of hurt.

After that, Jaskier doesn’t expect any more messages from him and eventually goes about his day. There’re bits and pieces of new lyrics and melodies coming to him, which is such a relief and a welcome change from the block of the last two months. To his surprise and joy, it’s Geralt’s message that breaks him out of the creative process a few hours later.

_FEB THE 19 TH AT 04:47 PM  
Ciri wants me to ask if she can meet you  
I don’t want to impose but I can see  
it’d make her very happy_

Jaskier finds himself smiling like a fool. Honestly, how on earth is Geralt single when he’s just so _sweet_?

 _I’d be delighted! Just send me your address and  
I’ll have someone drive you two to my house_☺️

_Who said I was coming?_

_Your tough looks are fooling no one, mister!_ 😉 _  
You’re a doting dad  
There’s no way you’d let her go to  
a stranger’s place with anyone but you_

The short silence on Geralt’s end feels like a victory. The next message the man sends is the address and Jaskier girns like a madman.

Then he remembers that he hasn't showered in two days and his kitchen is a mess.

***

“How is it?” Jaskier asks, “at sea?”

Geralt looks at him thoughtfully for a long moment. The silence is broken only by Ciri’s chattering on the phone with Yennefer outside the door.

“Empty,” Geralt answers finally, “Sometimes there're some moments when life erupts at the surface." The tiniest of smiles lights up Geralt’s face. “Like when a group of whales shows up. Or something else is happening, like storms. Those can be fucking terrifying. Other than that it’s... nothing. A vast blue desert. It scares the shit out of you at the beginning but you get used to it. Over time land can become too much. You miss the calm.”

“You love it,” Jaskier remarks, entranced by Geralt’s quiet passion. It’s fascinating how a man as taciturn as Geralt can reveal the depth of his feeling through the minute shifts in his expression – the slightest upturn of his lips, the barely-there crinkling at the corners of his eyes. Jaskier wants to study all the little changes in Geralt’s face, decipher what they mean. He hasn’t been this intrigued in a long time.

“Hmm,” Geralt replies in assent and smiles a touch wider than before, “I once saw... a single bolt of lightning hit the water in the distance.”

Jaskier gasps as the image of it appears in his mind: both the sky and the water illuminated by the sudden flash. A violent shiver runs down his spine and the hum of inspiration starts coursing through him. Words pop up in his head that describe the scene and the emotional impact of it. Jaskier instinctively reaches for his phone to write it down but then firmly files the words away for later. He has guests he should take care of.

Geralt and Ciri arrived two hours ago. The absolute shock Jaskier experienced when he saw Geralt – how muscular he is and how bloody well he looks in a black leather jacket (and black everything) – should qualify for therapy. Jaskier almost fucking choked on his tongue. Thank goodness that Ciri was there, so he focused his attention on her. The girl looks a lot like her father but carries herself with confidence which Jaskier assumes she got from her mother. She’s perceptive, asks questions and talks back. Jaskier adores her at once.

So far, Jaskier ordered everyone their favourite food and they ate it. Ciri bombarded him with questions about his music, the two of them also discussed their favourite music bands and singers. Geralt spoke little, only threw in some dry comments here and there, which always made Ciri laugh, and didn’t seem to mind when his daughter talked about him too.

Turns out Geralt is a _commander_. As Ciri recited, he can command a frigate, destroyer, submarine, mine countermeasures squadron, fishery protection squadron, patrol boat squadron, aviation squadron or shore installation, or may serve on a staff. It’s so _hot_. (Even if Jaskier has no idea what half of those words mean. Still. A fucking _submarine_? Jaskier’s a goner).

He promised Ciri that he would sing for her after they finished the meal but Yennefer called before he could fetch his guitar. The girl rushed out of the living room to talk to her mum, leaving Jaskier alone to fall prey to Geralt’s enthrallingly calm and restrained presence.

Now as he looks at Geralt, he can’t help but wonder what hides beneath the facade of his collected demeanour. Geralt must have numerous stories to tell. Jaskier wants to know them all.

“So, when are you sailing off again?” he asks.

“I’m... retiring soon.”

“Why?” Jaskier blinks, baffled.

Geralt swallows hard. “I’ve served for the Navy for seventeen years. Ten in total at sea.” The corners of his lips turn downward, a pained frown on his face. “I... haven’t been present enough for Ciri. Not nearly enough.”

For a fraction of a moment, Jaskier can see it all in Geralt’s expression: the pain of losing so much precious time with his daughter and missing out on so many crucial moments of her life, the sheer guilt of not being there, the torment of still choosing to do what you love even though it hurts the ones you love, the self-hatred of such selfishness.

Then, Geralt’s face becomes a blank mask. He reaches for a glass of water on the coffee table silently and doesn’t spare Jaskier a glance. 

“I’m sure she understands,” Jaskier tries to reassure but immediately realises it was a wrong thing to say. Geralt fixes him with a gaze so burning and deadly that it reminds him of the surface of the sun that he’s seen in photos and videos.

It’s clear now that Geralt doesn’t have to do much to keep his authority as a commander – a look like _that_ is enough to cower anyone. Anyone but Jaskier, perhaps. The thing with Jaskier is that fear... doesn’t come to him sometimes. He knows it should be there but it isn’t. Must be the reason why he’s been described as “feral” by many.

“You don’t –” Geralt begins.

“Okay, all done!” Ciri announces cheerfully as she enters the room and sits next to her father, breaking the tension in the room. “Mum wanted to speak with you,” she tells Jaskier, “She wanted to give you a shovel talk but I convinced her not to.”

“She would... do that?” Jaskier asks, not believing his ears, “but Geralt and I aren’t even together!”

Ciri only giggles.

“That’s why I’m single,” Geralt grumbles.

Ciri giggles harder. “Mum just likes being scary,” she says, “but she’s actually very soft.”

Jaskier frowns at her in disbelief. Intimidating the guy your ex-husband agreed to _fake-date yesterday_ and _soft_ don’t go together.

“Don’t ever tell her you know that, though,” Geralt advises almost playfully, “she’d make you forget.”

“I... I’ll go get my guitar,” Jaskier answers. 

After that, Jaskier is in his element. He plays and sings some of his songs and some of the classics. Ciri joins him with her sweet voice and it’s such a joy. All the while, Geralt’s sun-like eyes are on Jaskier, watching, assessing. Daring him to be just a little bit less subtle when he throws quick winks and wide smiles Geralt’s way so that it would be blatant that he's flirting through singing. The almost-glowing gaze should be unnerving perhaps, but it only feels strangely familiar. Jaskier’s idiotic brain sees the opportunity to make it romantic and naturally seizes the chance, supplying the thoughts of how they could know each other from their past lives, or how their atoms could be birthed from the death of the same star, and other such poetic, heart-ruining bullshit. Jaskier shoves the ideas away eventually. He just wants the moment to last.

It doesn’t last, of course. Geralt and Ciri soon have to go.

Ciri leaves with the happiest grin, Jaskier’s autograph and a selfie with him. When Geralt thanks him very nicely for this, Jaskier gets overtaken by the urge to have him stay and, as Geralt is walking out of the door after Ciri, he blurts out anything to stop him.

“Oh, Geralt!” he says, making Geralt turn back around and look at him expectantly. “Uh... Please don’t wear _all_ black to the party. It’s not my father’s _funeral_.”

“Hmm.”

It’s a playful hmm and Jaskier later has to send a text that _strictly_ forbids Geralt from wearing his uniform. Jaskier has looked at the picture of him wearing it an embarrassing number of times in the past two days. He wouldn’t survive seeing that live.

***

_FEB THE 20TH AT 11:03 AM  
What about engagement rings? _

Shit. Of course Jaskier would forget about bloody _engagement rings_.

That’s the thing with his attention – it flutters from one detail to another, sometimes omitting the bigger picture and the most obvious things. He’s always been like this and only music is able to ground his racing mind. Music was the passion to which he’s devoted every minute of his free time ever since was little. Yet, it wasn’t what his parents wanted him to do. They had a different vision of him and for a long time, that was fine. Until it wasn’t.

His parents love him of course. He loves them too, and always wants to make them proud, but by the time he graduated from a prestigious university (with honours, actually), he was miserable enough to finally stand up for himself. When he chose his own path, not fulfilling his parents’ wishes that would have him become the head of the family pharmaceutical business, he could see how disappointed they were, even if they never said so outright. For many following years, things stayed this quite awful way. Only a year ago or so, when his name finally started gaining wide recognition, the glow of pride returned to his parents’ eyes. The notion of disappointing them is still touchy though. Especially mum.

His mum can’t know about this. Dad too. His sisters will see right through it, that’s for sure, but he doesn’t care. They’re not saints themselves. His aunts and uncles should be easy enough to trick, at least. Still, they do need engagement rings.

Thank Destiny (or Lambert Rivia) for Geralt, Jaskier thinks, as he sends a message back.

_I’ll buy us something and give you yours_

_b_ _efore the party_

_Ok_

It’s a very Geralt reply and by now Jaskier knows not to expect anything else, so he goes back to playing the piano. A few minutes pass and Jaskier is a moment away from forgetting about the rest of the world, almost fully immersed in music, when he hears the characteristic ping.

Another message from Geralt.

_I prefer silver to gold_

Jaskier girns gleefully. This is utmost victory – Geralt actually gives a fuck.

 _Duly noted, darling_ 😉

_Don’t call me that._

_I’ll have to at the party, better get used to it_

Geralt doesn’t reply but Jaskier can almost hear his displeased hmm. He actually smiles at the thought and, properly distracted from his piano practice, decides to ring Geralt.

“What is it?” Geralt demands.

“Any other preferences about the ring?” Jaskier teases.

Geralt lets out an actual growl. Jaskier laughs with delight.

Geralt doesn’t have any other ring preferences, so Jaskier asks him about his general likes and dislikes. Geralt says that what he loves most is blessed silence, which... rude. Jaskier lets the jab slide, however, and goes on to ask about any family drama. Geralt simply answers that it’s always Lambert’s fault and that, well. That sounds about right.

The conversation carries on, or rather, gets carried on by Jaskier. He chatters away about his own family drama – which there’s _a lot_ of, he did get his love for dramatics from somewhere – while Geralt only hmms and grunts along. However, after the topic changes to other subjects, Geralt’s contribution to the conversation grows. He shares a bit more about himself or throws in a cutting remark and a telling silence to rile Jaskier up, which he seems to enjoy doing immensely. Jaskier doesn’t mind too much, though. His reactions make Geralt huff out quiet chuckles. And anyway, Jaskier responds in kind by destroying Geralt’s blessed silence even more and singing everything he wishes to say. It makes Geralt call his voice a filling-less pie. At Jaskier’s rightful outrage, Geralt laughs – a full, hearty laugh – and Jaskier finds he can’t stay mad for as long as he would like to.

Geralt is a bastard man. Jaskier’s going to buy him a beautiful engagement ring. 

(Then maybe pretend for a minute or two that the ring could make him stay). 


	2. Part II - Sail Away

It was a bad idea to tell Geralt not to wear all black. Well, the scarf is grey and the coat and the shoes _are_ black, but they don’t matter. Geralt’s just taken them off to reveal a three-piece suit and a shirt with two top buttons undone. The clothing is in a deep, navy blue colour and his eyes stand out _beautifully_ against it. Geralt in navy blue makes Jaskier want to weep and it’s only half-past noon. To add to Jaskier’s tragic swoon, Geralt’s hair is braided away from his face into a lovely plait at the back of his head (which Jaskier suspects is Ciri’s doing). It just shouldn’t look as good as it does. Geralt is so stunning today that words other than _what the fuck_ do not begin to cover it.

Not to blurt out _that_ in lieu of a greeting, Jaskier spreads his arms wide and exclaims, “Ahoy, captain!”

Geralt snorts with disgust. “ _Never_ say that again.”

Jaskier laughs out loud. “Come in, come in,” he says as he ushers Geralt into the living room, “make yourself at home. Are you hungry? It’s last chance for a snack before I put on some eyeliner and we’re off!”

“Eyeliner?” Geralt repeats with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, to finish off this look!” he replies as he gestures at the floral Gucci suit he’s wearing. The outfit’s actually demure considering his usual fashion choices. Bright colours and ridiculous patterns are his go-to but today is the first day of his life when he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. Much. “Help yourself with something from the kitchen if you want,” he says over his shoulder, already leaving for the bathroom.

The makeup takes just a minute or two – eyeliner application has become much less of dark magic with practice. He decides to put on some pretty pink lip gloss as well because, although he’s going to spare his family today and won’t flaunt his queerness at them, he still has to do _something_. It’s not at all because he hopes his fiancé might like it.

When he strides into the living room, he poses like a model and asks, “How do I look?”

Geralt, who sits on the couch, stares him up and down. His gaze almost makes Jaskier blush, so does his smirk. Both border on appreciative. “Really good,” he says.

Since he expected some mean comment, Jaskier almost topples over in shock at the compliment. He sputters, definitely flushing a bit, but quickly re-establishes a working link between his mouth and his brain. “Of course I do, darling,” he replies with a wink. Geralt smirks in that sexy way again. Jaskier has to give himself a good mental shake to stop staring. Clearing his throat, he starts thinking out loud, “So! Have I got everything for the party? I’ve got Geralt, and then the present, and then... Ah! The rings!”

Jaskier sits down next to Geralt and pulls the box out of the pocket of his jacket. Raising the lid, he reveals two rings seated within, one silver and one gold. “Should I kneel?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier laughs with delight, then takes out the silver ring and passes it to Geralt. It's a simple but chunky band with tiny engravings. Jaskier figured Geralt wouldn’t appreciate anything too showy. Geralt takes it and inspects what’s engraved on it. “What kind of flowers are those?” he asks.

“Buttercups,” Jaskier explains, “That’s what my name means. My grandma always told me I’m a jaskier.”

Pretty but poisonous. It’s extremely fitting.

Geralt only hmms and slides the ring on his finger. It’s a perfect fit but it’s no thanks to Jaskier’s genius deduction or anything; he simply knew Geralt’s ring size because Geralt had told him. After their phone conversation regarding ring preferences, family drama and other things, they kept talking. Geralt even began starting conversations by himself – he’d send some texts about Ciri like “Ciri says hi” or “Ciri’s playing that song again”. It made Jaskier melt every time.

“Look what you bought me in return, darling,” he says, smiling excitedly, and puts on the gold ring. It’s much more flashy than Geralt’s – a signet with a three-dimensional head of a wolf. “White Wolf” is apparently Geralt’s nickname and a pseudonym of sorts. Wolves are his favourite animals, too.

Jaskier holds out his hand, putting it next to Geralt’s on the couch, and admires the rings on their fingers. “They suit us,” he says quietly.

Geralt hmms. “They do.”

The drive is two hours long. Geralt insisted on driving even though it’s Jaskier’s car. Jaskier has a suspicion that driving is an excuse not to listen to him as he’s going over the essential family information, but it’s mostly for his own sake anyway. He just wants to delude himself that Geralt will be well-prepared for everything and all will go smoothly. They will be fine. They must.

When they pull up in front of Jaskier family’s mansion, panic and second thoughts wash over him alternately in cold and hot waves. As they get out of the car and Geralt hands him the keys, Jaskier hides within himself and observes the reality unravel a sense of detachment. He doesn’t want to be a part of the upcoming disaster.

“Ready?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier only looks at him helplessly. Geralt offers him his arm and Jaskier takes it like a lifeline. He clutches on it, the touch grounding him, as they walk towards the front door silently.

“Should’ve guessed you were rich,” Geralt remarks as he takes in the mansion looming before them.

“My success in music is all my own,” Jaskier replies feistily, “it took me ten years.”

Geralt wisely doesn’t say anything else and Jaskier settles down, letting out a shaky breath. He always gets very defensive of his achievements. His parents paid for nothing; he never asked them to. He hates that people assume differently.

The entrance hall is empty when they invite themselves in but not for long. Just as they manage to take off their coats, they hear someone coming down the stairs. Jaskier looks up to see Rozalia, his older sister. She’s only one year older than him but doesn’t look a day over thirty. In appearance, she’s all mum: luxuriant dark locks, cat-green eyes, tan skin, and regal features.

“Julek!” she exclaims with a smile and rushes down the stairs into Jaskier’s open arms. They laugh when their bodies collide.

“Hey, horror sister!” Jaskier says, the words their special greeting.

“Hey, wild brother!” Rozalia replies, as tradition commands.

When Jaskier releases her from his embrace, he goes on to introduce Rozalia and Geralt to each other.

“So this is your _fianc_ _é_ ,” Rozalia drawls after she and Geralt shake hands, clearly amused, and looks Geralt up and down. “Holy shit. I can see why you kept him a secret.”

Jaskier purses his lips, putting a possessive arm around Geralt’s waist. “Roza, you’re _married_.”

Rozalia only smirks, then turns on her heel and starts walking down the corridor towards the living room. “Everyone! Julek’s here!” she announces loudly.

“Julek?” Geralt mutters to Jaskier as they start following Rozalia.

“Diminutive of Julian,” Jaskier explains quietly. 

“Sweet.”

“Shut up.”

“Rich, coming from _you_.”

Jaskier snorts under his breath but doesn’t reply. The sensation of detachment from the reality is there again and Jaskier doesn’t fight it – the distance between him and everything else wards off the impending panic attack.

Like in a dream, he sees his other sister Amelia, who’s five years younger than him, marching towards them, her mop of short golden curls bouncing up and down as she walks. With her sweet face and wide blue eyes (just like Jaskier’s, which they both got from their dad), she looks like an angel. (Spoiler alert: she’s not. She can be _the worst_. That’s kind of the youngest’s privilege, though).

When Amelia hugs him and he introduces her and Geralt to each other, he’s still in a daze. Amelia walks on Jaskier’s side as they all enter the living room, chatting about something to him, but he doesn’t really hear it due to the ringing sound in his ears.

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice rumbles.

Jaskier looks into the sun-like, concerned eyes. The warmth calms him down. 

He takes in everyone in the room: his parents, Alfred and Wanda. Amelia, Rozalia and her husband Silvio. Dad’s brother, uncle Konrad, with his wife and son Ferrant. Mum’s sisters, aunts Maria, Hanna and Anna with their husbands. All watching Jaskier and Geralt expectantly. 

Jaskier puts on his best smile and lays a hand on the small of Geralt’s back. “Everyone, this is Geralt Rivia. A Royal Navy commander,” he says and observes, delighting in the array of shocked reactions his family display. “My fiancé,” he adds with pride that he doesn’t even have fake.

A round of introductions follows. Geralt shakes everyone’s hands and says nice things like “honoured to meet you finally”, “Jaskier told me so much about you” and “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you earlier”. It’s actually pretty convincing, Jaskier has to give him that. Still, it doesn’t stop one of the questions Jaskier dreads the most.

“But why didn’t you tell us anything, darling?” his mum asks as everyone sits down at the table in the dining room.

 _This is it_ , Jaskier thinks mournfully, _this is when it all goes to hell_. At least Geralt sits next to him. It's going to be a quick departure – Jaskier will just grab his fiancé and run out of the house.

“Exactly,” Amelia seconds, her slender arms crossed before her chest, “it isn’t like you. You would tell the whole world about your engagement in some wild Twitter thread.”

Shit. She got him there. “W-well, I...”

“I asked him not to,” Geralt comes to the rescue. At the confused looks from everyone around, he goes on, “Not until I go on at least one more deployment and Jaskier’s absolutely sure he wants this. He should have it easier in case he changes his mind. Fewer people know about it, less painful it is to announce.”

Jaskier’s dad frowns. “But why do you assume he’d do that?” he inquires, regarding Geralt with suspicion.

“Being in a relationship with a marine officer is hard,” Geralt replies with a heavy sigh and makes a dramatic pause. Jaskier’s family looks at him with almost bated breath but he takes his time, the bastard. He already has them hanging off his every word. “My deployments are rarely shorter than nine months long,” he confesses ruefully.

A stunned silence falls over the room. Jaskier’s family stare at him with disbelief – they all know Jaskier wouldn’t be able to survive a relationship like that, not with how needy he can be.

Of bloody course Geralt would take it too far at the very start.

“But I’m stubborn!” Jaskier exclaims as cheerfully as he can, “Won’t have anyone else but Geralt.”

“Well, _that’s_ all you,” Amelia says, and Jaskier heaves a sigh of relief.

It’s not that Jaskier doesn’t appreciate Amelia’s inquisitive mind. She’s always had the tendency to analyze and look into everything until every fact and detail adds up. Her character makes her the perfect heir to the family business, which she’s agreed to gladly. Ever since she made that decision, Jaskier choosing music is much less of a painful topic for their family. And so, Jaskier certainly values his younger sister’s nature of constant question-asking, _but_ _not in moments like this_.

Amelia appears to already know what is going on here and Jaskier only prays she’ll be nice enough not to delve into it too much. Maybe some warning glances from Rozalia and begging ones from Jaskier will stop her. Maybe.

Food is served, alcohol starts flowing. Jaskier’s family begin asking Geralt to say something about himself but Jaskier always tries to twist the conversation so that questions about their relationship don’t come. Until they do.

After they sang dad happy birthday, told him their wishes and gave him the gifts, it’s time to eat the birthday cake. Just when Jaskier puts half of his slice on Geralt’s plate (he doesn’t even like cake), Silvio asks, “How did you two meet?”

Geralt and Jaskier share a look. Jaskier opens his mouth to answer but it’s Geralt who says, “I walked into a bar where Jaskier was playing. He asked me for a review of his songs after his performance.”

Geralt has the audacity to _smirk_ at him, so Jaskier, just to be a little shit, adds, “In three words or less!”

Geralt doesn’t appreciate this contribution judging by how he narrows his eyes at him. Jaskier knows they’re treading a dangerous ground – in their stupidity, they didn’t discuss the details of their “first meeting”. Geralt started it, though.

“And what did you say?” Silvio questions.

“That they don’t exist,” Geralt replies without a beat, still staring Jaskier in the eye.

“Whaaat don’t exist?” Jaskier’s father says what Jaskier himself almost blurts out himself.

“The creatures in his songs,” Geralt explains.

The affronted noise that leaves Jaskier's mouth is beyond his control. “It’s _folk_! The genre allows for fantastical elements like that!” He huffs. “But you know, Geralt with his commander mind always wants the facts and only facts.”

“So you don’t like Julek’s singing?” Rozalia asks Geralt.

Geralt denies this with a shake of his head. “Jaskier sings beautifully,” he replies, “Like a siren.” He lays his hand on Jaskier’s and looks into Jaskier’s eyes. “My siren,” he adds quietly.

Jaskier has to gape a little. He barely restrains himself from mouthing _are fucking serious?_ because, really, Geralt can’t just _say_ things like that. When he regains his composure, he decides to be mean. “I told you not to call me that, _dear heart_ ,” he says, “Not exactly flattering. Sirens lured sailors to their demise.”

Geralt does that lethally adorable head tilt and answers, “Still would go for you.”

He can hear aunt Maria cooing in the background, bless her heart, but Jaskier almost doesn’t register it. His attention is fully on Geralt – there’s something new in his gaze, beneath the teasing glint. Something guarded, tentative and true. Jaskier cocks his head to the side just a little bit. Geralt notices the question in the gesture (they’re really getting good at reading each other, aren’t they?) and answers by raising an eyebrow, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Jaskier experiences the feeling of a thousand butterflies fluttering their wings in his stomach when he understands – it’s an invitation. He accepts.

Geralt’s lips stretch into a small smile and he squeezes Jaskier’s hand on the table, intertwining their fingers together. Jaskier’s heart almost gives out and he grins, giddy like a teenager who’s just found out their crush is reciprocated. It’s not that far off from the truth anyway.

Uncle Konrad asks Geralt about the Navy and they start discussing working in the army but Jaskier only half-listens, too focused on cherishing of the feel of Geralt’s palm engulfing his. Until Geralt takes his hand away, that is.

With a displeased grunt, Geralt takes his phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket. The screen displays an incoming call. “I should take this,” he says apologetically and quickly walks out of the dining room. 

The moment Geralt leaves, the assault is unleashed upon Jaskier. His family bombard him with so many questions and remarks at once that he only hears what Rozalia sitting next to him says. “Didn’t know you were into older men,” she comments, swirling the wine in her glass innocently.

“He’s forty!”

She frowns. “Then what’s the deal with the hair?”

Jaskier freezes in panic. Fucking hell, what _is_ the deal with the hair? He has _no idea_. Geralt refused to answer his questions on the topic. “W-well,” he stutters out, “it’s really... uhh...” He clears his throat. “Not my story to tell. Geralt doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Rozalia hums, a twinkle in her eyes. “How mysterious.”

“He sure does seem mysterious,” uncle Konrad chimes in, “And...”

“Quiet?” Ferrant suggests.

“Taciturn?” Silvio supplies.

“Closed off?” aunt Hanna adds.

“Why are you saying it like it’s a bad thing?” Jaskier cuts in, interrupting this merry-go-round offering of adjectives before it spirals into everyone calling Geralt a brute.

“Not at all,” aunt Anna reassures, “It’s just that... I’m sure I’m not the only one wondering how on earth the relationship is even working with him being like this and you being, well...” she trails off and gestures at Jaskier with her fork. “You.”

“Frist off, I’ll take this as a compliment –”

“Of course, dear.”

“ – and secondly, even though we’re different, our differences only keep things... _interesting_ , if you get my meaning.” Jaskier throws in a telling wink, and his uncles chuckle.

“ _Julian!_ ” both his parents cry out, scandalised.

“Honestly,” Jaskeir goes on, unmoved, “deep down, he and I are quite the same.”

“Indeed?” Amelia asks, “Is he also a bastard at heart?”

“Yesss!” he hisses out, wildly pleased. Sometimes he _loves_ Amelia’s analytic mind.

“He actually seems like a sweetheart,” his mum says, warming Jaskier to his very core. He loves his mum so much – she always sees the best in people. 

“He’s both, really,” Jaskier replies. “He’s certainly a sweetheart to his daughter,” he adds, delighting in shocking his family once again. Then, an idea pops up in his mind, “If you ask him about her, he’ll open right up.”

Before everyone can ask anything else, Geralt returns. After taking one look at him, Jaskier knows something is _wrong_. There’s tension about him but his face is a blank mask. “Something wrong, love?” Jaskier whispers, barely realising that he even said the endearment.

“Work,” Geralt grunts. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s father says, “Julian tells us you have a daughter?”

Geralt’s face lights up immediately. It’s such a charming sight. Jaskier’s chest constricts with how everything in him screams and begs _don’t ever go_. 

“Yes,” Geralt answers and launches into talking about Cirilla – how old she is, where she goes to school, what she likes doing. How she loved to paint her little hands on the walls when she was six. Soon every one shares funny stories about children, either their own or themselves as kids.

Jaskier zones out a bit, too busy wondering why Geralt took his hand away when he tried to reach for it.

Later, Jaskier’s parents invite Geralt to stay for the night, which equals success in making the fake-fiancé scheme convincing. They wouldn’t allow someone who they thought to be a stranger to sleep in their house.

Geralt doesn’t take them up on their offer.

***

“You seriously want to tell your family that I died at sea?”

Geralt’s voice rumbles through the quiet of the chilly night as they stand outside the front door. One of dad’s drivers agreed to drive Geralt back home. Jaskier is supposed to walk Geralt to the car which would take away the man he wants to stay. His legs refuse to work.

“No! No dying!” he exclaims.

Geralt’s hair shines in the light of the lamp hanging above the door and the amber of his eyes is the only warmth that matters. Jaskier gets lost in it, and everything in him screams at him to stop Geralt from going, the desperation of it making him choke on the words. “Geralt, I-I...” he stutters out, “I like you.”

“You barely know me,” Geralt replies, his expression not betraying anything.

It’s the truth and it isn’t, but the distance in Geralt’s words is there. Jaskier grabs his hand not to have him move any further away. Geralt doesn’t take it away this time and Jaskier’s heart starts beating wildly with the small victory.

“We had a crash course in getting to know each other,” he says, “And you _liked_ it. I did too. We could really... have something, together. Can’t you see it?”

He tries to hit all the undetectable persuasive tones with his voice but fails. He’s outright begging, yet Geralt is unresponsive - his face remains a blank mask. Jaskier just wants to _pierce through_.

“Geralt,” he whispers, “ _stay_.”

It’s like watching a dam break. A frown twists Geralt’s brow, then his lower lip begins to quiver. After that, there’s a flood: anguish, infuriation and fear all appear on his face. He tears his hand away from Jaskier’s grasp.

“Damn it, Jaskier!” he barks, his voice loud and harsh. It assaults Jaskier’s ears so much that he flinches. “This is why I don’t have anyone!” Geralt goes on, pained and _angry,_ “I don’t let anyone near but then _you_ show up.” Geralt’s furious pointing finger directed at him feels like a physical jab. “With all your smiles, all your songs and just being _you_ ,” Geralt’s voice wavers. He turns his back to Jaskier and walks a few steps away. “You’re making this so fucking _hard_.”

The words and the emotions in them are entirely unfair. Jaskier is too hurt not to bite back. “ _What_ ,” he snaps, “the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

Geralt doesn’t reply.

Jaskier tries to lick his wounds in the ringing silence, tries to wrap his head around Geralt’s outburst, but it makes _no sense_ and Geralt still doesn’t answer. “ _Well?_ ” he demands sharply.

“They told me today that they want me for one last deployment.”

Many things suddenly become perfectly, horribly clear.

“How long?” Jaskier hears himself ask.

Geralt clenches his fists. Jaskier looks at the tense line of his shoulders, how rigidly straight his back is, and waits for the blow to come.

“About eleven months.”

It’s like a slap across the face. Jaskier almost staggers back. His mouth opens and closes helplessly but he’s truly out of words. His chest _hurts_ and his heartbreak fills his lungs, causing pain with each inhale and exhale. Swallowing down the lump forming in his throat, Jaskier searches for something, _whatever_ , to give him hope.

“But then you retire?” he rasps.

Geralt nods.

They say nothing. The rhythm of Geralt's heavy breaths ticks the time away. Jaskier wonders about how long eleven months is really. Objectively, it’s not a short period of time, for anyone. It can even become torture if you wait for someone that long. Jaskier isn’t patient or permanent in many things, but his gut feeling tells him that Geralt could become a rare constant in his life. It urges him to _try_ , at least try.

“It’s fortunate, then,” he says quietly, trusting Geralt to hear just how much he’s offering, “That you return for good afterwards.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Geralt grumbles, glancing at Jaskier over his shoulder, “You deserve better than this. Move on.”

It’s perhaps the most heartbreaking of all, that Geralt doesn’t think himself worthy of good things. Jaskier doesn’t understand it but wants to – wants to _know_ him and all his whys.

Jaskier walks up to Geralt, standing directly behind him. “Can’t,” he replies cheerfully, brushing his fingers along Geralt’s ring, “we’re engaged.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls. It comes off as a tired, weak warning that Geralt already knows Jaskier won’t heed. “You can have anyone. Don’t waste your time on me.”

Jaskier chuckles as he moves to stand before him, taking Geralt’s hands in his. “Didn’t you hear, dear heart?” He looks Geralt in the eye with a smile. “I’m stubborn.”

Geralt glances down at their joined hands, his shoulders slumping. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath, resigned. When he looks back at Jaskier, his eyes are alight with so much heat that Jaskier’s breath hitches. There’s still the sparkle of anger and pain in them, but most of all, Jaskier sees _want_.

Geralt cups Jaskier’s cheeks in his palms. “Damn you, Jaskier,” he says in a husky whisper. Their faces are so close that his breath ghosts over Jaskier’s mouth. “Damn you.”

Jaskier is exactly the little shit to take it as a compliment. 

Geralt kisses him. It’s the best kind of kiss – deep and slow, passionate but unrushed. Jaskier is quickly reduced to a moaning, aroused mess. He whines unhappily when Geralt breaks the kiss but is a bit placated when Geralt takes him into his arms. They stay quietly in the embrace, Jaskier’s face hidden in the crook of his fake-but-not-so-fake fiancé's neck until Geralt speaks.

“I’d like it if you were... my siren.”

Jaskier raises his head and frowns up at him. “You _actually_ want me to lead you to your death?”

Geralt chuckles. “No. You’d be of a different kind.”

“Oh?”

“You could...” Geralt answers shyly, “call me home.”

And Jaskier will.

Geralt sails away three weeks later and it hurts, but that’s all right. Jaskier writes him many songs to guide him back, to fill his thoughts with warm promises that Jaskier is impatient to fulfil. Then, _finally_ , after the agonizing wait of eleven months, Jaskier has the chance to keep his word.

When Geralt returns, he _stays_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rozalia is the Horror while Jaskier is the Wild 💕 (Amelia is the nasty angel baby. They adore her for it. Must protecc). 
> 
> (Also, I love making up OCs, can you tell? XD)

**Author's Note:**

> The internet says that the earliest you can retire from the RN is at the age of 55, but Geralt needs a break, sue me. 
> 
> Please, toss a comment!


End file.
